These Ties That Bind

Sara took one last taste of Rem’s tongue and lips, because it would be their last kiss—ever—then forced herself to pull away. His moisture cooled on her lips and his breath feathered bits of hair around her face.

“I can’t do this.” She was strong enough to control her body and its desires. She’d had a lot of practice.

She didn’t need to understand the darkness lurking inside—whatever it was—to know that she didn’t want to have anything to do with it. She and Finn had a good life. Things would stay the way they were.

“Damn it, Sara.” A thread of desperation rang in Rem’s voice. “Let go for once in your life.”

“No. I did that once. With you. Remember? And I ended up pregnant. I wouldn’t give up Finn for the world, but it’s been anything but easy. You walked out on us. You decided you didn’t want to be a father. I’ve raised a great kid. All by myself. I don’t need you.”

“I’m not talking about need. I’m talking about love and companionship. We belong together. We always have. We’re connected.” He leaned forward. “If we don’t belong together, why did you sleep with me that night last summer?”

“That was a mistake.” She traced a scar on the tabletop with her nail. “Do you think your mom knew I stayed late that night? Do you think she heard me when I ran out?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. We aren’t kids anymore.” He lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look into his intense blue eyes. “Answer my question. Why did you make love to me that night?”

“You’d been stabbed. You almost died.”

“And it scared you because we’re connected. Because if I died, part of you would die, too.”

She shook her head sadly. “We might have been at one time, before you burned Timm. But that changed everything.”

Rem cursed and bracketed her face with his hands. He rested his forehead on hers, breathing hard. “That was an accident. I was a kid. You know that. Timm’s forgiven me. Why can’t you?”

She wanted to touch him so she curled her hands into fists in her lap. She had to protect herself and her son. “What about all of that stuff when you were a teenager? The drinking? The girls? The street racing?”

“There’s a difference between what I did as a teenager and what I did last summer. When I was a kid, drinking and partying were a pattern in my life. I’d burned my best friend. I didn’t think I deserved better for myself. Last summer’s drinking was an aberration after six years of sobriety. Can’t you see they aren’t the same?”

He backed away and the bar came into focus again. People talked, laughed, sang along with the Christmas carol tinting the air with nostalgia.

Two glasses filled with clear soda and ice sat side by side on the table. Angel must have brought them while they were kissing.

Heat crawled up Sara’s neck.

Rem picked up one of the glasses. “Club soda. No alcohol. I haven’t had a drop since the stabbing. I’ve changed, Sara. You need to accept that.”

He slammed the glass down and soda splashed onto the table.

“But I haven’t seen any change,” she said. “You drank in the summer. You sure looked like the old Rem.”

“That was temporary. I was upset after you turned me down.”

“Okay, so you haven’t had a drink since then. But you could again at any time. It shouldn’t have happened in the summer.”

“It happened because I’m human. No one is perfect. Not even you.” He rammed his fingers through his hair, his frustration a palpable thing beating between them. “There are things you don’t know.”

“What are you talking about? What things?”

He got out of the booth and his absence sucked all of the warmth out of the room. He reclaimed the bench on the other side and she felt a loss whose source she couldn’t identify.

“Nothing,” he said. “Forget I said anything.” He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Okay, listen. You haven’t seen the changes in me because you were away too many years at school and then working. Your visits have been short. A week here. A week there. Just like now.”

He took a long swallow of soda. “Dad died seven years ago. His death scared me straight. I knew I had to save myself. Ma needed me to grow up and take responsibility. I did, Sara. I went to school for six years. I didn’t drink. Didn’t party. I’m a veterinarian now. I take care of the ranch. I take care of Ma.”

He reached across the table and took her hands in his. His gaze shot to her face. “Your fingers are icicles.”

“I know.” This year she felt winter’s chill so deeply. She didn’t know why she couldn’t get warm.

You were warm a minute ago, in this man’s arms. She ignored that sentiment.

“Before last summer,” Rem went on, “I’d been sober for six and a half years. That’s a long time.”

“Yes, it is, but you did drink again last summer.”

“And I don’t now. We’re going around in circles, Sara.”

She didn’t respond. What ruled her decisions about Rem were the times when he lost control, because those times destroyed her, devastated her, starting with her brother’s eleventh birthday party. Rem had sprayed Timm with foam streamers and the birthday candles had set the foam—and Timm—on fire. Rem’s questionable choices were terrifying.

“What about the car you crashed when you were sixteen? You were lucky to survive.”

He tapped one fist against his forehead. “I’m thirty-two years old. Why are you dwelling on ancient history?”

“Because it will always be there between us.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Life changes. Only your memories stay the same.”

“That’s true. My memories don’t change.”

As much as it hurt her to do so, she took her fingers out of his grasp.

“Nothing is going to happen between us, Rem. That’s final.” She moved to slide out of the booth, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“If you leave now, it will be final. For me, too. I’m done with you, Sara.”

Rem sounded so strong, so determined, that Sara hesitated. He had hovered on the edges of her life for so many years. Had always been there, a constant, undeniable shadow. A man who’d loved her unceasingly. As of this moment, that all ended.

“I understand,” she said, and left the booth.

It was over. This time, for good.

She walked away, through the warm and festive restaurant and straight out the door into the quiet night, where falling snow coated the ground like a feather duvet, cloaking the world in a reverent hush. And all Sara felt as she trudged to her mother’s home was hollowness in the pit of her stomach and a bone-deep chill.

CHAPTER TWO

THE MOMENT HE HEARD THE CRASH, Rem shot out of his sweat-soaked bed and ran to the open window. Light-headed, he grasped the sill for support.

The June sun was too bright, already too high. Must be eight-thirty or nine o’clock. He’d slept in.

He’d been dreaming of Sara Franck again. And fire.